Tuesday poem #629 : Louise Akers : To a career hunter

 

         

Appraising as if only 
for insurance purposes 
some keening squirrel, my sight
hound 
guarantees the regular abandonment 
of tumorous and gnawed-green 
Osage-oranges, 
eaten out at the foot 
of this or that Himalayan White 
Pine. 

Colleen at spin class says to kill
the small green orange eaters “will cost
you two hundred fifty bucks 
a pop” in fines. Her husband, Friend  
of Fort Greene Park, is
quarantined in Amagansett 

through the long weekend. It’s important 
to ensure local eco-
perpetuity; it’s impossible 

to outrun the keenness of 
my hound. Her career
assessment spreads athletically 
and undiscerning over 
every local incident  
of flesh-that-burrows under 
twenty or so ounces. 

These furry pollinators, she observes, 
whose collective estates 
must hold
environmental significance, and whose 
contraband selves and celebratory
downed fruit spell liability 
for esurient arrivals even when
she comes reliably 
on lead.

 

 

 

Louise Akers is a poet and scholar living in Brooklyn, NY. She is the author of two books of poetry, Alien Year (Oversound, 2020) and Elizabeth/The story of Drone (Propeller Books, 2022). Akers is currently pursuing her PhD in English and American Literature at NYU.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan